Don't Let the Fire Die Part I
by DoveShadow
Summary: PART ONE: SPARKS OF THE PAST When you live on an island with nothing but your own mother, fancy sunsets, and lots of wild dragons to keep you company, life can get pretty boring. Ember lives a good life, but her huge, adventurous spirit craves more than her island can offer. One day, she happens to finally meet another person: a rather deranged viking chief named Dagur...
1. Chapter 1

This is Cobalt Island.

It's sunny nine months of the year, and snows the other three. The food that grows here is actually not half bad. Nearly devoid of people, the beautiful wildlife is _less_ than half bad.

The only downsides are the creatures that live here. Sure, we have our fair share of sheep, birds, and the occasional wild yak. Oh...and dragons. We have dragons, too.

"Unbelievable!" the voice of my livid mother shouted as she came stomping through the house's front door, her berry basket swinging wildly from her angled arm. At the small eating table in the room's center, my attention managed to remain focused on the book laid before me; such outbursts from her had become almost routine, and so I'd easily become accustomed to them. Nevertheless, the redundancy of them never failed to remind me of Mother's hatred for dragons.

"Those wild beasts are absolutely _awful_!" She continued her angered rant, even after slamming the door closed and proceeding to the kitchen area near the window. "I venture out of the house simply to pick a few berries, and they _still_ insist on bothering me!" My mother shook her head in astonishment as she deposited her collection of berries into a nearby bowl-which turned out to be a lot more berries than I'd imagined her getting, with her dragon trouble and all. "I swear, there is not a single corner on this island that those pests have not infested."

I held back a grin. "Well, mother, dragons _are_ the dominant animal race of this world. You're gonna see them pretty much everywhere," I pointed out somewhat smugly, without looking up from the page I was reading.

"Therein lies the problem!" My mother turned her head to face me now, but her hands were still busy at work preparing the berries for whatever meal she had in mind for tonight. She huffed at the thought. "Perhaps if more vikings banded together against them, we could be rid of their wretched race for good."

I resisted the urge to snort. _Yeah, like that'll ever happen._ Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted the majestic yet terrifying creatures completely wiped out. I didn't hate dragons, but I didn't necessarily care for them, either. Whatever my opinion of dragons was, one thing was for certain: I sure didn't hold an intense, fiery grudge against them like my mother did. I just sort of...feared them, but secretly admired them at the same time.

Finishing the chapter I was on, I decided to give my tired eyes a break. As I closed the book and stood up, I walked around the table to the door. "Well, you have fun with your life-risked berries," I told my mother, "and I'll go for a walk before dinner's ready."

She responded with a sigh, probably amazed at how, despite everything she'd just told me, I still wanted to venture out by myself. "Just...be careful, Ember," she warned me, her anger melting away into concern.

I nodded at her. "Always am." Then after grabbing my small dagger, I was out the door, quick as lightning.

I loved Mother dearly. But one could only take so much of her heated complaining. Dragons this, and dragons that. It'd been years since I'd heard her utter any _compliments_ about the beasts. All too well, I knew the reason for it, and it was something I tried not to think about. Otherwise, I'd find myself holding back tears with all the strength I possessed.

Across the small clearing our house sat in, and into the sunlit forest, I let my legs carry me onward. Terrible Terrors lept among the branches in the treetops, chattering loudly and minding their own business. The tiny dragons always struck me as kind of cute, even though I knew they were capable of as much destruction as a regular-sized dragon. Even though my mind was wandering everywhere, I had no doubt of where I was headed: a clearing at the top of a cliff, right on the edge of the sea. Over the years, it'd become my favorite spot on the island. It became my go-to place for drawing, reading, thinking, or if I just needed to get away.

Soon, I emerged from the treeline into the beautiful area. Since springtime was upon us, small yellow flowers poked through the fluffy grass, dotting the green land with specks of gold. The sun was halfway between the ocean horizon and its apex, creating faint shadows behind the flowers with the promise to widen as the sun set. Walking right to the edge, I plopped down on the grass and dangled my feet over the side of the cliff and crashing waves below. The fear of its height had disappeared long ago.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop my thoughts from thinking back to my mother's warning to be careful. Every time I left the house for anything-whether it was to go explore, or to simply check on our personal yak, Jackie-she never failed to give me some sort of concerned comment. I appreciated it, I really did, but it had become endlessly redundant. Still, I humored her anyway; after what happened, she…

Well, there it was. _It's been seven years since it happened. _Day by day, it had become both harder and easier to not think about Dad, and I was trying to teach myself to live with it.

There had been a time when my mother held no grudge against the dragons. Rather, she admired them from a distance, silently marveling at their fantastic and slightly unreal qualities. My father had been a courageous viking, who'd settled for a quiet life away from his tribe after he'd married Mother. From what I remembered of him, not only was he skilled in a fight, he'd also possessed vast knowledge of dragons. He was kind but firm, proud but generous. He'd killed his fair share of dragons in his day, but after starting a family, he'd begun to wonder if dragons really needed to be killed at all. It proved to be a fatal mistake for him.

I'd only been eight years of age when my mother came home one day, saying my father had been killed by a dragon he'd tried to befriend. She even had his blood-stained viking helmet to confirm it, and even though said helmet was well out of sight in the house nowadays, the image had been basically burned into my mind. My mother was never the same again.

After an hour of wallowing and then attempting to draw my mind from the sadness of the past, I guessed that dinner would be ready by now, if not already. I hopped up onto my feet and made my way back to the house, the sun still setting behind me.

. . .

It turns out that the berries weren't for the main course; they were for dessert. After a nice meal of roasted yak (not Jackie), my mother produced a rather delicious berry pie. She'd explained that she was trying something new for a change, and after my first bite I hurriedly encouraged her to make more in the future. There's a surplus of wild berries around the island, after all; why _not_ use them all on pie?

My stomach sported a pleasantly over-full sensation as I walked out of the house once more. A small, content smile adorned my face, and I headed for the cliff spot again. I needed inspiration for a landscape I was sketching, and what better place to go than there? The usually omnipresent, distant dragon noises were calmer now as they settled down for the upcoming night. A yawn forced its way from my mouth, and I knew that as soon as it got dark I'd be settling down as well.

I neared the slightly clearer area of trees that hinted at the forest's end. The sunlight ahead of me started peeking through more and more. So focused was I on shielding my eyes from its direct rays of blinding light, that I almost didn't notice the startled shout that penetrated the quiet air.

I halted in my tracks. My peaceful mood faded away into confusion. I turned my head to scan my surroundings, searching for the source of the sudden noise. _It sounded like a person,_ I realized as I went over the noise in my head. When I saw no signs of anyone, however, I began to doubt myself. _Did I imagine it?_

Then, two more sounds were heard. A gravelly sliding noise, which sounded like a jumble of rocks loosening, and another shout, this one more distressed than the last. It sounded like it was coming from up ahead, in my favored clearing. _Okay, I am DEFINITELY not imagining that._ Those two sounds combined could only mean one thing: somebody was about to fall off the cliff!

Without thinking, I rushed forward, eager to get there in time if there was, in fact, someone in trouble. I burst from the treeline, and halted for a moment to take in the situation. The deep orange sun was only a semicircle of light now, half-sunken over the watery horizon. The sky was cast in a rainbow of warm colors, and the receding light cast long shadows on the ground. Thanks to these shadows, I spotted a frantically moving hand at the edge of the cliff, holding on for dear life.

My gaze snapped to it just as it vanished over the edge.


	2. Chapter 2

Luckily for the person dangling over the treacherous cliffs, I had a rather fast reaction time. As the hand lost its grip and slid off the grassy edge, I sprinted forward without thinking and half slid, half fell onto my front when I reached the cliff's brink. My hand sailed down over the edge and instantly sought out the falling one, half of my torso having to lean over before I successfully caught the hand in a firm grip.

He was heavier than I'd expected.

The man-or boy, rather, as he appeared to be near my age-dangling beneath me was a rather interesting sight to behold. He wore typical viking clothing and armor, but his helmet had these peculiar spikes running down the center, and really long horns on the sides in lieu of the typical short yak or ram horns used on helmets. He also had this semi-ornate belt with a circular golden buckle, with a tribal crest engraved on it. From this angle, however, I couldn't make out what exactly the crest was.

He made another startled noise at the unexpected halt in his descent. "Hold on!" I called to him, summoning all of my strength to try and pull him up. "I've gotcha!"

At the sound of my voice, he turned his head skyward and I was able to see his face. Red hair peeked out from underneath his helmet, long but tied back. He had a broad chin and this tattoo of three dull purple claw marks going over his right eye. Speaking of his eyes, they were a bright shade of green, the type that could fill with intense fire if their owner was angered. Right now, however, they were filled with confusion and curiosity at the sight of me.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I strained every muscle I had and tugged him upward. Slowly, but surely, I was able to haul the rather heavy boy up and over the edge of the cliff. Once he was safe, I immediately released his hand and fell backwards into the soft grass, chest heaving with the massive effort I had just put forth. _I actually did it,_ I thought incredulously. _Guess I'm stronger than I thought, huh?_

The boy brushed himself off and stood up, breathing a lot less heavily than I was. "Yeah, that's right," he grumbled. "No Deadly Nadder can kill _me_ so easily." He straightened up to full height and put his hands to cup his mouth, shouting into the forest in mockery, "You hear that, you beastly dragon?! Your trap failed and now I'm coming for YOU!"

I raised my head to stare at him in confusion. _Wow, he's certainly...expressive, isn't he?_ As my breathing finally returned to normal, I heaved myself up onto two slightly shaky legs. At the movement, the viking in front of me turned around to face me.

"Good job, uh, saving me," he said hesitantly. "Although, I would've found a way up sooner or later…"

_Huh?_ It was obvious to me that he wasn't used to thanking people. His words were highly unorthodox. "A simple 'thank you,' will suffice," I said with a raised brow, crossing my arms.

He smirked, half sheepishly and half smugly. "Yeah, uh, you see I'm a _bit_ incapable of using those two words in the same sentence." He then produced this peculiar laugh that made him sound utterly insane, the likes of which I'd never heard before. "But honestly, that's how all Berserkers are! Especially me: Dagur the Deranged! Chief of the Berserkers!" He made his crazy laugh again, obviously proud of his rank.

_Isn't he a little young for a viking chief? _I rolled my eyes. _Certainly full of himself, isn't he?_ "Well, _Dagur_," I said, trying out the name, "what were you doing over the side of the cliff, anyway?"

Instantly, Dagur's features grew spiteful. "I was hunting this Deadly Nadder, because I thought it'd be easy prey. I mean, it was headed straight for a dead end!" He gestured to the cliff. "But the dragon _outsmarted _me! Can you believe that?! Nadders aren't even supposed to be that intelligent! I'm all for surprises, but not particularly when they have me end up _dangling_ over a _cliff's edge_!" The Berserker Chief pulled his short sword from the sheath on his back, gripping it tightly in rage. "Oh ho ho, when I find that dragon, it's going to wish it had _never_ messed with me!"

To a small degree, his anger was unsettling; not necessarily scary. It also seemed a little childish-at least to me it did-but there was no way I was telling him that. Instead, I resolved to help him out. "Well, you know, uh…" I began a bit nervously. His enraged gaze swung to me as I spoke. "I know where the Deadly Nadders usually gather. If you want, I can show you…?"

I'd left it as a reluctant suggestion, but Dagur snatched it up as soon as I'd finished speaking. "Yes!" he exclaimed, his demeanor swiftly changing from furious to triumphant. He walked over to me, sheathing his sword as he did, and suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders. "Take me to them! With your aid, I shall seek revenge!" Cue his crazy laughter again. "Lead the way!" He let go of a shoulder and expectantly gestured to the trees with his free hand.

The intense way his eyes had bored into my own caught me off guard for a second, yet I didn't know why. "Um...okay," I replied, starting to slowly walk toward the forest treeline. Eventually, I gained confidence and sped up to my normal pace, the footsteps of Dagur close behind me. I could practically feel the excitement radiating off of him.

Not much thought had to be put into directing myself toward the river where the Nadders went for water, so the rest of my mind was free to wander. _This was certainly unexpected,_ I concluded to myself. _One minute, I'm saving a viking chief from falling to his doom, the next he's dragging me along on his vindictive dragon hunt. _My head briefly shook in bewilderment. _Dagur is certainly the most bizarre person I've ever met._ Now that I thought about it, I realized that he was the _only_ person I'd ever met besides my parents, which was kind of depressing. _Maybe it's just me. Perhaps this is how vikings out there normally are, and I'm the weird one here._ Which didn't make sense, because Dagur was clearly far from what I hoped was considered 'normal.'

Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

I snuck a glance behind at my Berserker companion. His paranoid eyes searched his surroundings for any sign of danger, but also for something else. "What is it?" I inquired.

"I left my crossbow somewhere around here," Dagur explained, not faltering from his watchful movements. "But I can't remember where…"

_He has a crossbow, too?_ Somehow, that didn't surprise me.

We traveled a few more meters before a gleeful cry of "Found it!" came from the viking behind me. The sound made my head instinctively turn for a brief moment, but what I saw in that short time made me do a surprised double-take. In Dagur's hands sat the largest crossbow I'd ever seen. I had been expecting one of those small, handheld ones, but this one was _long_. Dagur experimentally raised it to his face as if he were about to fire a bolt, aiming it somewhere off to the left. He expertly adjusted a few things on the weapon before slinging it over his shoulder. Looking to me, he nodded. "Carry on."

Snapping out of my slight surprise, I whirled my head back around and began our trek once more. The only sounds I heard were the faint chattering of a nearby dragon and grass crunching behind me. "So…" I began, feeling a sudden urge to make small talk with my peculiar companion. "Have you been hunting dragons here all day?"

"Since noon, actually," Dagur explained. "I've been channeling my anger and honing my battle skills, so that the next time I face those _stupid_ Dragon Riders I won't look like such a _fool_!"

_Say what?_ His words almost stopped me in my tracks. "Dragon..._Riders_?!" I turned to meet his crazed eyes. "There's such a thing?"

"Unfortunately!" the Berserker Chief explained. He studied the dark sky for dragons, muttering, "Berkians and their dragon love fests...makes me wanna hurl…"

_How the heck does one _ride _a freaking dragon?!_ The fact that such a thing actually existed somewhere filled me with disbelief. Save for the occasional Terrible Terror, I'd never even been able to get _close_ to a dragon, and had never even _thought_ about riding one. _Seems kind of impossible to me._ "You're trying to get revenge?" I inquired further.

"Not trying; I _will_ get revenge!" He clenched his unoccupied fist, and the other tightened around his crossbow handle. There was such rage in his eyes that I couldn't help but grow a little worried for myself.

"Is that all?" I asked, trying to disguise my fear with a seemingly bored tone.

Dagur shook his head. "You know that one of them has a Night Fury?" Seeing my surprise, he went on. "I went hunting for it, and I had almost succeeded in catching it, but then _Hiccup_ stopped me! He was supposed to be my brother, but instead he _lied _right to my face!" I could tell that he really wanted to punch something.

Clearly, this "Hiccup" had caused him a lot of grief. _A viking boy who rides a Night Fury… Things are getting more unbelievable by the minute._ "Wow...that's rough," I awkwardly replied, unsure of how to respond to all of this.

"Well, it won't be for long; not if I have anything to say about it," he growled. Then his vengeful demeanor suddenly vanished and was replaced with calm curiosity. He turned to me and asked, "So, uh, are we close?"

_This guy is more bipolar than my own mother._ "Uh...yeah. We are." Approaching the edge of the treeline, I found a patch of bushes to crouch behind that provided a view into the open clearing beyond. "They're just past these trees."

Dagur crouched next to me, holding his crossbow close as he surveyed the area. A small river ran through the grassy clearing, exposed to the open dusk sky. All around the river, Deadly Nadders of varying colors and sizes were milling about. Some drank drowsily from the river water, and others seemed to be settling down for the night. A couple of them off to the side squawked at each other, as if in conversation.

"Okay," I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. "I've found that the best way to sneak around them-or _to_ them, in this case-is by always staying right behind them, in their blind spot. So if you carefully leave the bushes, then tiptoe toward the nearest one, then you should be able to-"

Dagur never let me finish. He leapt from our hiding spot and, producing an insane cacophony with his voice that sounded to me like some sort of guttural battle cry, rushed into the clearing, attacking the Nadders head-on with his crossbow and sword ablazing. The dragons themselves all looked up simultaneously at the noise and, realizing that they were being attacked by a crazy viking, started to panic. They squawked like a flock of birds; some tried to fly away as fast as they could and others prepared to defend themselves. A lot of this was in vain, however. The Berserker chief had caught more than a few of them off guard.

"-attack them," I finished pointlessly as I remained crouched behind the bush, absolutely stunned by Dagur's plan of attack.

_His tribe is called the "Berserkers," _I reminded myself. _Really, you should have seen this coming_.

**. . .**

Fire crackled and snapped, casting its dancing shadows of amber and yellow flame to form a halo of light in the nighttime darkness. The smell of roasted yak still hung in the air, even though the source had long since been eaten. Apparently, dragon hunting worked up quite an appetite; my berserk acquaintance had eaten enough for two fully grown viking men.

Dagur had managed to single-handedly slay three of the six Deadly Nadders that had been in the river clearing. Despite his..._unusual_ plan of attack, on the inside I was quite impressed. He'd taken a select amount of trophies from each of his kills-a horn here or there, a sharp tooth or two, even a wing-which now lay in a large sack next to him as he sat polishing his sword. I sat somewhat awkwardly across the fire from him, unsure of what I should do now. He'd offered me some of his roasted yak, of which I took only a little, as I'd eaten beforehand. Other than that, he'd only boasted about his kills and his hunting trips of the past. Some of them had actually intrigued me, I'll admit-but the stories _had_ grown a bit predictable and redundant after a while. Of course, I didn't have the guts to tell him this.

"So, do you live here all by yourself?" Dagur suddenly asked, abruptly changing the subject to me for once.

Startled by the question, it took me a moment to answer. "Uh...no, actually. I live with my mother. And…" I smiled sheepishly. "Well, that's about it."

"Huh," was his response. "Sounds lonely. Me, I'm usually among my Berserker warriors. That's why I like to go on solo hunting trips like this; it's nice every once in awhile." He grinned. "Although my armada is never really too far behind, in case I ever encounter that _Night Fury_ again…"

Not willing to listen to another of his rants about his arch nemesis, I said, "Speaking of my mother, if I stay out any longer she'll get all worried about me. And, well...let's just say you don't want that happening."

Dagur nodded. "My mother was quite the same way. Before she died, that is…"

My eyes widened in surprise. "What? Oh Dagur, I'm so sorry! I never meant to-"

"It's not your fault," he assured, cutting me off. "I never really got to know her, so I don't think about her all that much anyway."

The Berserker chief didn't even seem sad about it, to my wonder. _He's talking about her death as if it's the most normal thing in the world. If I started talking about my father, I know I'd tear up…_ "Oh...okay," I mumbled awkwardly, unsure of how to respond once again. _The more time I spend with this guy, the more he confuses me._

I stood up from the fallen tree I'd been sitting on. "Well, I, uh… I guess I should go."

"And I should be getting these trophies back to my ship," Dagur stated as he hefted the large sack of dragon parts over his shoulder. He picked up his crossbow with his free hand, then nodded to me. "I appreciate your aid in hunting those Nadders."

_Still have a problem with saying "thank you," do we?_ It became apparent to me that this would be the closest I would get tonight. "You're welcome," I replied. "Anytime."

After one more nod of acknowledgement, Dagur turned on his heel and began walking down the hill toward the beach I knew was a little ways through the trees. I was about to turn away as well, when the Berserker Chief surprised me by turning around again, stopping me with a cry of "Wait a minute!"

I looked back at him in confusion, wondering what the crazy viking could possibly want now.

"I never got your name," he explained.

Shockingly, I found myself smiling. "You never really gave me a chance to tell you. My name's Ember."

It seems my smile, in turn, made _him_ smile. Which, for a reason I couldn't explain, made my own smile grow wider. "That's a cool name! Ember… Well, see you later, Ember!"

Earlier today, I would have grown annoyed or even worried at the possibility of Dagur returning to my island. Now...I found that I didn't mind. Not even a little bit. "See you...Dagur," I replied, the smile never leaving my face.


End file.
